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When he reached their suite and unlocked the door he could hear the sweet tones of Kyra singing coming from the bathroom. She’d left the door to her bedroom in the suite open, so he walked in and called through the closed bathroom door.
“Ky? I’m back. Do you need anything?”
The singing stopped and was followed by several long moments of silence.
“Ky?”
“Um, I’m okay. Could you order me some lemonade, please?”
“Yeah, will do. Uh, you sure you’re okay? Because that was awfully polite for you.”
“Rock! I’m polite!”
“You can be.”
“Wanna tell me what that means?” she huffed.
He was glad to see her sass coming back.
“Nothing to worry your head about. I’ll get that lemonade for you.”
He went to the phone and placed the order, and five minutes later there was someone at the door with two tall glasses. He set one glass on a side table, took the other one with him and knocked on the bathroom door.
“Want your lemonade before you melt in there?”
“Ha! I’m hardly the Wicked Witch of the East.”
“It was the Wicked Witch of the West who melted,” he corrected her. He always enjoyed giving her a hard time.
“West. Whatever. I’m coming out.”
Before he had time to react, she came charging through the door wrapped in a plush white robe–and crashed right into him. He caught her slender body in one hand while balancing her lemonade in the other. And god, had she always smelled this good?
Her upturned face was only inches from his and her lips had never looked so kissable.
No.
He let her go and took a step back, watching her carefully to make sure she’d regained her balance. It looked like she had.
“Here’s your lemonade,” he said, sounding lame even to his own ears. But he was more shaken up than he liked to admit.
“Thanks.” She took the glass from him and wrapped her pink lips around the straw. “Mmm, this is good.”
He gave himself a mental shake. He was not supposed to be thinking of her like this. He took another step back.
“What else can I get you, Ky? Anything?”
She bit her lip, which made his blood go hot.
“Um, I’d really like…” She stopped, looking up at him, and slowly tears brimmed in her eyes. “Brock? I think I really need a hug. Is that okay?”
He reached out to take the glass from her hand and set it on the nightstand, then he gathered her in his arms and pulled her in close.
“That’s always okay.”
She burrowed into his chest and his heart pounded like a hammer. His arms went tight around her as she began to cry, and he picked her up, carried her to the bed and sat with her curled in his lap. What else was he supposed to do with a crying woman? With a crying woman he cared more for than anyone on the damn planet?
He didn’t know how long he held her. It seemed like forever, but a good kind of forever. He didn’t want to ever let her go, he realized.
